


when the cold is over

by rkvian



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Found Family, Mirage Needs a Hug, holiday fic, implied Lifelore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22113283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rkvian/pseuds/rkvian
Summary: Sometimes, Renee thinks, we should do stupid things for love.
Relationships: Mirage | Elliott Witt/Wraith | Renee Blasey
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	when the cold is over

**Author's Note:**

> i had another holiday fic before this, featuring Mirage asking Wraith to pretend to be his gf for a Holiday reunion with the Witt side of his family, who are typical rich snobs, because his ex was going to be there. it got out of hand, too AU for my liking, and didn't have as much themes of family as i wanted, sooo this happened instead
> 
> while writing, i listened to Sleeping at Last - Snow,  The Paper Kites - Tin Lover, and especially Gert Taberner - Fallen

The Docking Bay in New Dawn is by far, one of the most striking stations Wraith has ever set foot on.

Twenty-eight landing decks stretched far beyond her line of sight, hampered by industrial trucks delivering goods to meet the season’s increasing demands, and crowds of civilians hurrying towards disparate destinations. Cavernous ceiling stretched above them, and when the sun set enough for the light to filter into tinted windows, colors of dawn illuminate across the weather-beaten paneled walls, the unpainted metal foundations shimmering like stars and faery lights against the backdrop of garlands and lanterns.

Holiday carols were playing in the background, sung in a Talos dialect she’s heard for the first time, and overall the ambiance was palliative—a stark contrast to the pique-twisted faces of people she’d come to know over the months, all seventeen of them watching the lone Docking Bay staff say something about ‘sincerely apologizing for the delay’ and ‘having to reschedule flight’ and ‘due to unforeseen circumstances’, all the while gripping her datapad tight enough for her ungloved hands to whiten.

Worry? No. Fear? But they’re all unarmed—ah wait, nervousness, Wraith noted, from the gesture swiping at her glossed lips as she finished reading the script and opened herself up for questions.

“Your company has promulgated the departure at this hour. What, mayhaps, be the reason for the additional delay?”

…probably fear now, too, as murmurs and complaints rose from her audience composed of the illustrious Apex Legends. Among them it’s Caustic who spoke, grey-green eyes narrowing into steel. Gibraltar huffed a laugh next to him.

“Cool down brotha, I’m sure Marzolla didn’t want it either. Right?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” She nodded immediately, unaware of the subtle warning, “Tomorrow morning. The ship that was supposed to ferry you lot was delayed in Psamathe because of the weather there.”

“Oh, that damned planet.” Lifeline rubbed fingers against the bridge of her nose, “What a drag…”

Octane snickered from somewhere near the edge of the landing dock, “Have time to check the ski resort now, _chica?”_

“Ya just want out from seein’ ya parents again.”

“Even better!”

The medic groaned at her childhood friend’s nonchalance. To Wraith’s mirth, it was Bangalore who nudged Lifeline’s side, saying “Hey, it’s a plan.” in a tone that spoke volumes about their relationship.

“Anita still find off-world travel horrifying.” Wattson whispered albeit audibly, at Bloodhound who graces the comment with a quiet snicker.

“No, I don’t.”

“ _Vraiment_? Didn’t you spend the travel to Talos in your cabin?”

“Oh!” Path’s screen changed into an exclamation, “Friend, I believe there is a word for that—”

“God have mercy.” It was soldier’s turn to press a hand against her face. “That is not a burn.”

Octane barked a laugh Lifeline echoed, and Wattson giggled.

Gibraltar grinned, “It’s Witt’s fault for giving Path the book about Modern Hip Languages though…right? Witt?”

Silence.

“Solace to Mirage?”, “Mirage?”, “Eyy cucurbita lover?”

“Elliott?”

Elliott jumped at Wraith’s hand against his sleeve, suddenly looking up from the phone he bought just several days prior, huffing out nervous chuckle, “What? Y-yeah. That’s—you’re-you’re so right.”

“Ya didn’t hear anythin’, did ya?”

Eighteen people were staring at him, quiet save for the murmuring from the Legends Wraith saw before but wasn’t familiar yet.

“W-well, it’s ‘cause—oh _give me a break_.” He rolled his eyes, theatrically waving his hand dismissively, “I was busy answering fan questions for the Winter Express. You know what they say, heavy lies the crown with responsilibit—respons—uhh. Gotta be honest I have no idea how that goes.”

They seem to have accepted that lame excuse, Wraith mused, watching him shoot down jeering comments with derisive replies of his own. Something’s not right, and it hasn’t been for days now. There were nuances to his body language worsening as the days grew closer to the end of the year.

She’d have finally asked, if it wasn’t for the disdainful:

“Not all of us are interested in _infantile_ activities on _juvenile_ resorts.” Said Rampart, a brusque man whose most notable characteristic was his absence of eyebrows.

Rosie and Skunner nodded against the exchange as did Prophet and Revenant, and it’s a clear reminder the surviving Legends are required by contract to act civil towards each other—that despite building a semblance of friendship, some of them are there for the money and the money alone.

“What the hell are the rest of us supposed to do?”

“Spend the night in a bordello, get wasted on eggnog, fuck a tree, build a snowman—no one knows. Just stop pestering the kind lady with inane questions Rampart.” From their East, the Apex Games Commissioner ascended the steps, scratching the inside of his ear with his pinky, “You have your own brains to think with, yeah?”

He did not like that answer at all, jaw clenching at the Commissioner—but that’s pretty much the only thing he did. For all the kill streaks and flair, Blisk was one person none of the Legends dared to cross. Except sometimes Elliott with his jokes. And Octane with his stunts.

Rosie tilted her head, “Where we be stayin’?”

“Astra. It’s taken care of.” Blisk handed a datapad to the Docking Bay staff, directing which parts to read. With the business conducted, the Commissioner turned his back and began to leave. Marzolla trailed him half running, her heels clacking on the floor with each step, and one by one the Legends followed.

“So,” Elliott began, phone mysteriously gone from his hands, “Who’re the lucky souls to celebrate Talos’ Yule dinner with me, huh?”

And as if planned:

“Oh no, no, no, _hermano_.” Octane pushed past them, hopping on the railing and sliding down, “No dinner. We’ll be half way to the resort then.”

“Half way to death too but—that’s every day, technically. Nat?”

“I…” Wattson’s brows furrowed for a moment, before her face lit up, “left something to cook in my room.”

“But you don't even have a—nevermind. Gib?”

“Bike maintenance, brotha.”

He didn’t even got around asking Bangalore before she said, “I’m helping an old lady cross the street.”

“Helping Bangalore help an old lady cross a street.” Crypto added without blinking.

“A shame,” Lifeline clicked her tongue, already halfway to the steps, “I forgot I left Doc charging.”

“I left Artur as well.” Bloodhound said.

“ _Charging_?”

The tracker gave Elliott an _is your brain functional_ look. “No.”

“I can come with you, friends.” Path raised a hand. Wattson high-fived him, wrapping an arm around his metal ones and tugged him along.

“ _Non_ , you were busy composing a limerick, _rappeler_?”

“B-but—but guys? Hey guys? Anyone?” Elliott settled back on his toes, sighing dramatically, “Guess it’s just us then.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, “Who says I’m coming with you?”

“ _Renee_.” He said, voice aghast, and she snickered but didn’t miss the distress in the exaggerated tone of his voice. Their friends moved ahead although not too far they can’t easily catch up, and it was another opportunity to ask him—how are you, are you okay, what’s troubling you—but she chickened out at the last moment, and instead

“What do I get?”

“Well, you’re in luck.” He placed a hand on a cocked hip, the other flourishing down the length of his body, “You get the honor of having _me_ as your Holi _date_. Get it? Holiday date? Holi—no? Hey where are you—oh come on, that was a good one.”

* * *

Wraith thought it’s a bit unsettling how differently she saw the world now.

She’s spent years on the street after years in the laboratory, and so she’s used to looking for entrances and exits, mapping the roads she’s taken and could take, searching for cover or weapons in case her situation went South—basic but often overlooked survival skills.

Now…now she’s lowered her guard enough to be able to admire plates and cutleries for their aesthetic value, instead of looking at them as convertible shiv and throwing munitions. Most of all, she can finally enjoy drinking alcohol without wondering if it was poisoned. The people at their dinner table contributed to that comfort.

“And I told her,” Elliott’s voice was loudest, “‘what are you gonna do, shoot me’?”

“I would have gotten you if Wraith didn’t land that lucky shot across the building.” Bangalore snarked back. “The two of you weren’t even on the same squad.”

“Wait, lucky shot?” His voice rose indignantly, but there was no heat behind it, just typical one-upmanship. “I trained her shooting seven hundred meters with a Wingman that’s no lucky shot.”

“No you didn’t, just two hundred.”

Too late, she realized he’s been winking conspiratorially at her, and their small crowd burst out laughing.

Dinner was peaceful.

* * *

“You should come with them. I mean—if you wanna.”

“And have no one to keep me from falling flat on my face? No thanks.”

“Hah, you’re out of luck. Never went skiing before either.” Elliott shook his head, “Solace ain’t the best place for that.”

From a distance, Lifeline turned back to them, raising her index finger and then very explicitly penetrated the hole she made with her other hand. Wraith let out a snort—she had gotten used to it over the weeks, although she doubted she’d stop blushing—raising two peace signs and just as explicitly scissored them against each other.

Octane must have seen the exchange, cracking up so hard he bent over clutching his stomach. Path reiterated the gesture, making Wattson and Gibraltar guffaw. Bangalore raised her middle finger hiding a grin and Wraith shook her head, motioning to the man beside her.

Elliott snickered, “You definitely won that one.”

With one last _adieu_ , the group of six boarded the train. The two of them stayed just long enough for the train honk signaling the departure, and then they left, long before the gathering fans could approach them.

* * *

Wraith decides she likes the feeling of snow crunching beneath her feet. It’s an entirely different experience from her first time in World’s Edge, where things were quite literally life or death. It’s satisfying, in a way that should be embarrassing but can’t help herself from doing.

“Me and my brothers used to do that when we were younger.”

She looks up, and Elliott gestures to a distance, at a group of kids playing by the other end of the park. They’re young, a bunch of seven to twelve year olds chucking balls of ice at each other, darting between the trees chortling and shouting in glee.

“I thought you’ve never been to snow before?”

“Never went skiing.” He corrects, “Mom used to take us to Aquilo, this winter city way up North of Sol. It snows there just enough to cover the land and we used to do that. Throw dirty frozen water at each other. Man, those kids don’t even know if someone already peed on that.”

She crinkles her nose at the mental image, turning to watch him fully.

Wraith has always been aware how attractive he is, but it is not something that is more important than his quips and one liners, or his ingenuity during the Games when he comes up with a plan that makes her think he’s out of his mind. It’s just there. Just another thing that made up Elliott and Mirage.

There are times like these she’s reminded of it though, like when the holiday lights twinkle above him in red and orange, blue and green, accentuating the bridge of his nose, the angle of his jaw, the redness on his full lips. Wisps of snow lightly covers his untamed curls, and his scarf hangs low around his neck, heart of his minimalistic dark grey winter jacket, white shirt, and black denim.

He’s ethereal, especially with the faraway look on his eyes, as if he’s stuck along the void looking in from a different timeline.

“Are you ever going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

Elliott’s face falls.

“It’s a…” He clears his throat, “it’s a seasonal thing. No big deal.”

She shifts her weight between her toes, “You can talk about it?”

He didn’t want to. Elliott covers that truth with a forced smile, but he gives up the second later, looking on the ground and exhaling, slipping his fingers into the pockets of his jacket.

“You don’t have to—”

“Want in on a family secret? My Mom ain’t really home a lot.” She blinks, startled, and as if he has to clear it up, he adds, “On Christmas.”

“Oh.” The icicle on the tree nearest to her breaks from her movement, and her hand darts out to catch it.

“I mean, I can’t blame her.” There it is again, that self-depreciating hunch to his shoulders, “Our table was built for six people, and there’s only two of us left. Hard to get into the holiday spirit when just looking at me is a reminder, you know? Of what we used to have.”

“I thought you had crazy Yule parties growing up?” Humor, because it’s—because she’s spent a lot of time around him now to realize it is easier.

“It became a performance early on. Had to be the annoying Funny Guy right? Not really good at being anything else.” His lips curve, “Honestly, I’m lucky she had work to distract her while she was grieving. Even met few of her colleagues growing up, nice people.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” He tilts his head, and the genuine confusion on his face makes her heart ache.

_What about your grief?_

She takes a big crunch on the icicle, more from the jolt of agitation in the pit of her stomach—for his behalf, for her ineptitude in expressing her thoughts, for his tendency of loving so much he forgets to save some for himself.

“Ajay and Hyeon said you can get salmolle—sallmen—salmon—” He points a finger gun at her, “the salmon sickness from that.”

She snorts half-heartedly, “I like salmon so I don’t see the downside.”

“That’s how you take it, you fish person?” Elliott narrows his eyes playfully at her, “That it’s funny?”

“You tell me. It’s how you deal with everything.”

Her answer snaps him back into— _something_ , the stature of his body turning rigid and she hates that she had to say something like that when they were doing well.

“Sorry.” She mumbles, taking another bite off the icicle.

“It’s cool, that’s—that’s fair.” He nods. For a moment they’re quiet, watching a kid pop out from behind a tree and scare a younger girl. “Me and my mom—my mom and I—or, whatever, it’s—I-I mean this year…” She presses a hand on his back, and he calms, just a little, “This year it’s been five years since my brothers were gone. And my mom and I were supposed to eat together during the Holidays for the first time since… I don’t know, since before they left for the Militia training.”

It clicks suddenly—the restlessness, the tension set on his muscles—and her fingers bunch into a fist.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier? We could’ve—”

“It got cancelled.” He says hastily, “She dipped out. I told you about the company she opened right? She, uh, it’s going well. There’s this huge business deal she can get if she attends this esclus—excluse—esclusives only Yule celebration in Psamathe. So. That’s why. And I-I get it. It’s important, for the future, we can still have a dinner next year. I’m old now, I'm independent, but it’s hard not to feel, like,” he swallows thickly, “like I’m not a priority, you know?”

She exhales, “Elliott.”

“Yeah, that ain’t true.” He lets his shoulder fall, “But for once. Just once. I want something happy to remember.”

The moisture from the icicle sips into the light material of her gloves…and she already thought about it.

The problem is, Wraith is not the kind of person that will deal with emotions; Wraith was uncompromising and forbidding, often times ruthless honed by the years she had to be to survive—but she’s not just Wraith anymore. She’s also Renee Blasey, the idealistic person from logs she can’t recall making, talking about joining IMC to help children from being parentless like her, to the unbidden interest in different dimensions, to the scared woman inside the lab still compassionate and sympathetic.

And sometimes, Renee thinks, scooping up a palm full of snow and patting it deftly into a sphere,

“Wh— _Renee_. What are you doing?”

We should do stupid things for love.

Elliott’s eyes widen, and she chucks the snowball before he got more than five steps away from her. It explodes between his fingers raining grains against his face, and she thought she stepped a line until—

“It’s—it’s _salty_.” He spits and then sticks his tongue out, “ _Why is it salty_?”

She laughs, loud and vibrant, and the shock on his face narrows into a look of unadulterated mischief. She scoops a handful, getting another light shot while he’s making his own, and scurries away at the sound of his protest, icicle in hand.

The snow crunching beneath her feet as she’s running between trees sparks childish glee through her veins. It reminds her of a time she can’t remember, this light feeling of homesickness for a place that probably doesn’t exist anymore.

“Come back here, you little minx.” Elliott cries from behind her, and the yearning melts away.

Renee glances over her shoulder, and he takes that opportunity to throw a shot that hits her shoulder. She dodges the next one, dropping low to scoop for ammunition, and threw it randomly at him.

It explodes on his stomach, which doesn’t seem to faze him.

“Metal abs.” He winks and she rolls her eyes playfully, “No, really. If that shot hit me as a kid, I’d probably be in tears right about— _no._ ”

She snickers, or giggled, maybe both and same, as they trade shots, some maneuvers molded by their experiences in combat. Hers were quick light balls, his compact but fewer in between. It’s fitting, given their preferences in the Game.

Instinctively, she uses the icicle to block one particularly heavy shot, and it breaks in half, plopping into the snow, “ _Hey._ I was still sucking on that.”

“I know other things you can suck.” He waggles his eyebrows. Renee hurls a barely rolled ball that explodes against his arm, and then he sidesteps her next one.

They both watch in horror as her snowball sail past him, out into the clearing, _at the back_ _a young girl_ causing her to fall face first on the ground.

The group of kids from earlier all freezes and looks at them wide eyed in surprise—then the champion on the ground rises up pumping both her hands in the air with a loud battle cry, and all of a sudden, the seven children starts chucking snowballs everywhere.

Renee is thwacked at the side of her neck, Elliott at his jaw. Two adults sitting by the bench gets hit, as well as six men, three women passing by, a group of young adults drinking, a pass-by choir, teenagers, more young adults—

Escalating into an all-out massive snowball fight.

It is absolute chaos, a bunch of random strangers joining in the havoc. Some build snow forts as alliances formed, two and then three across the length of the park. There are people who relegate themselves into shooters, others snowball makers; and the little kid from earlier leads the fight to whoever gets in her way, decimating just about anyone with her back ups composing of people from different age groups.

Renee’s near the tree line, when she feels a pair of hands catch her hips from behind, and Elliott laughs from behind her.

“Look what you’ve done.” He says, “You’ve started a war.”

She turns in his arms, smirking, “A well fought one.”

“That’s true.” He chuckles, the sound deep in his throat. He’s watching her, and she wonders if he’s looking at her the way she looked at him, with her back against the light, haloed in the same colors he was, her eyes only on him. He presses a palm against her face, brushing hair away from her eyes, “I wanna kiss you right now, but I really don’t want the salmon sickness.”

She groans, “You’re really going to keep calling it that?”

“I remember what it’s called.” He hums, “At this point I’m trying to get by with my dignity intact.”

“In that case,” she smirks, “you should let me go then.”

“Can’t.” Instead he pulls her close, “Don’t want to. I think there’s Mistletoe above us anyway.”

“Ah.” She places a hand above his beating heart, voice dropping to a whisper, “It’d be a shame to break tradition then.”

He smiles against her lips, “Yeah.”

They kiss.

It’s slow and warm, and it was as if he was trying to memorize every single thing—from his palms cupping her jaw, her cold nose against his cheek, her lips ardent against his. _I love you_ , she pours the emotions she don't know to voice, _I love you_.

When they part, just a little that they breathe the same air, and he whispers, “Thank you.”

Renee smiles up at him, pressing her forehead against his, and then feels a pat of cold—ice—wait _snow_ , on top of her hair. She yelps loudly and shoves him away. Elliott grins wolfishly, showing off his one-half of a snowball before running away, cackling madly at the top of his lungs.

From afar, people don’t see Mirage the Holographic Trickster nor Wraith the Interdimensional Skirmisher. The crowd knows who they are, it’s impossible not to recognize them from the billboards and the advertisements and the holovids all around New Dawn. But at the very moment, they don’t see two of the most illustrious Apex Legends. They see Elliott and Renee, for who they are.

They see lovers playing in the snow.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading :)


End file.
